


Shattered Stars

by FragileStateofSanity



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Grief, OC, Tears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23239630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FragileStateofSanity/pseuds/FragileStateofSanity
Summary: Jayden Watson has always been a loner and outcast, she only had her mom. And when she died Jayden's life turns upside down. (I do not own Sherlock but I do own this plot and my OC) (Please feel free to leave a review, I'd appreciate it)





	1. Chapter 1

John’s POV

I press the rim of my favourite mug to my lips, taking long sips of my beloved coffee. Black, just how I like it. It tastes more natural that way, milk or crème makes the texture all weird and sugar just ruins the whole thing. I don’t know how anyone can stomach it when it’s like that, oh well, I’ll keep my genius secret of how to make the best cup of coffee to myself.  
I can already feel the effects of the caffeine kick in. I can see my eyelids lift and my mood start to get better. The gears in my mind start turning again and I find myself able to function. Good thing too, you don’t exactly want a slow mind in the presence of Sherlock Holmes.  
My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, sits across from me in his chair. A blanket wrapped around his shoulders, a book in one hand and a teacup in the other. On occasion, he takes a sip of tea from the white china cup or flips the yellow pages of his hardcover book. This early and reading? His mind must never need a break when he’s conscious.  
Today is a good day, so far; it’s only 10 am. There were no late-night calls from police, no violin music, basically no interruptions at all besides the occasional bang on the floor from the people in the flat above. It’s almost too good to be true, some case will come up making Sherlock and I occupied for days.  
A chime from my cell phone rings from the kitchen, I let out a long groan. I knew it was too good to be true, can’t catch a break. I choose to ignore it and enjoy the rest of my morning. The ringing eventually stops and I take another sip of my tea. Sherlock is still engrossed in his book.  
After a few minutes my phone sounds again, I furrow my eyebrows confused. Maybe it’s important. I doubt it if it was important it would go to Sherlock. It probably just a call to waste my time, I don’t want to deal with that today.  
“Aren’t you going to get that?” Sherlock asks looking at me with a blank expression.  
“No,” I answer flatly.  
“Why not?” Is this really going to be our first conversation today?  
“Because it’s not important.” The phone goes silent again.  
“How do you know that two calls within the span of five minutes; someone wants to get a hold of you pretty badly,” he states with a monotone voice then takes a sip of tea.  
“If it was important, they’d call you.” We stare at each other for about a minute until my phone rings for the third time. I let out a frustrated sigh, “I’ll get it.” I stand up and go over to my phone on the kitchen table. “I don’t recognize the number,” I say confused and pick up the phone, pressing it against my ear. “Hello?”  
“Hi, John?” A feminine voice asks.  
“Yes?”  
“John Watson?”  
“Yes, that’s me,” I say annoyed.  
“It’s Clara.” There’s a long pause until I click my tongue.  
“Why are you calling me?”  
“She’s dead,” she says with a choke.  
My breathing hitches, I don’t like the sound of this. “Who?”  
“Harry!” Clara sobs a bit but it sounds all distorted over the phone.  
I feel faint and hold onto the table, “W-What?” I don’t believe it, she can’t be dead; there must be some other explanation.  
“She’s dead John.”  
“How?”  
“John-”  
“How did it happen!” I yell slamming my hand on the table. Sherlock looks over intrigued.  
“Alcohol poisoning,” she says between gasps of breaths.  
I can’t feel anything in my body. I feel angry, sad and scared all at the same time. Harry and I weren’t close but she was still my sister. I should have talked to her more.  
“There’s one other thing,” she says obviously pulling herself together.  
“What is it?”  
“I’m not sure if I should tell you right after-”  
“For god's sake Clara tell me!” I demand loudly. Sherlock continues to observe.  
After a long pause, Clara responds, “I am unqualified so you are open to custody for Jayden if you sign some stuff and take a couple of tests.”  
This only confuses me more, “I’m sorry, custody? Who’s Jayden?”  
“Are you kidding me!” Clara yells.  
“I asked, who’s Jayden?”  
“Harry’s daughter.”  
“Harry doesn’t have a daughter.”  
“Yes, she does! And her name is Jayden! She adopted her years ago!”  
I’m stunned, “I-I didn’t know.”  
“Well someone from child protection services will come to your flat and examine it, plus take some tests-”  
I cut her off by shutting my phone off and putting it back on the table. For a moment I stand there with my eyes closed and head hanging, taking in all the information. How could I not have known? How did she not tell me? How is she dead?  
I eventually make my way over to my chair and sit down in it. Sherlock keeps his eyes on me obviously curious but won’t talk first. I’m not sure if I want to talk, it was a lot to take in. Will I be able to get custody? Do I want custody?  
“What was that about?” Sherlock asks finally.  
“I have a niece.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jayden’s POV

I sit on our green couch, hugging my knees to my chest. It’s almost comforting but I don’t know why. This little action can only numb the pain to a certain extent. Some feelings don’t go away no matter what you do.  
I look out our window to the starry night, they always fascinated me. The thought that our world is just like a star, just as small from a distance; that there may be other life on planets. That was always something my mom and I did, star gaze. It was one of my favourite things to do with her.  
A surge of sadness goes through my body. I miss her so much, now I’m alone. My so-called other mom Clara was supposed to take care of me until I found another family, but as per usual, she’s no where near me.   
What I wouldn’t give to get my mom back. I can’t live without her, she was my world. One of the only people who excepted me and treated me like a person, not as a shadow.  
I burry my head in my knees trying to give myself some kind of comfort. I hate this feeling, I don’t even know what it is but I wish it would stop. Usually when I was sad my mom would try to cheer me up, but she’s not here any more.  
A rush of anger fills my slender body and I get up wanting to let it out. I dig my nails into my palm causing a sharp pain, I don’t care anymore. If it helps, I’ll do it. It doesn’t do much so I walk into another room, hopefully something in there distracts me.  
The closest room was the bathroom so I walk in and turn on the light. The tile floor is ice cold causing my feet to throb. The once white walls are covered in brownish stains that I don’t even know how they got there. The light above gives everything a yellow glow, making it look even dirtier. The only nice thing in here is a pristine mirror that my mom loved, she just enjoyed a clean looking glass.  
When I look at my reflection, I look worse than I feel. My skin is a chalky white making my freckles look disgusting. Puffy blue bags hang underneath my eyes making me look like an old lady and my chapped lips make me look like a corpse. My dirty blond hair is greasy and in need of washing, the only presentable thing about me are my purple tips that have never looked bad since I dyed them.  
Dark blue eyes stare at me. Even though I was adopted I looked freakishly like my mom, especially in our eyes; they were practically identical. I feel as if my mom was looking at me instead of my reflection.  
I furrow my eye brows and look to the side. I can’t look anymore, I’m just too much like her. How can I ever look at my reflection without feeling this? It would be nice to kind of have her presents but it’s also a painful reminder that she’s not coming back.  
I grit my teeth in anger. I’ll never hear her beautiful laugh. Never see her smile. Never be able to make her breakfast. Never, never; never!  
I look to the object sitting on the edge of the sink. An empty beer bottle, this is what killed her. Drinking! If she had just stopped like I begged her to! If she only listened! If she only quit!  
I let out a scream and slam my fist into the mirror causing it to shatter into a million pieces. I just stare at the shards for a couple of minutes. My distorted face looks back at me. Pointy shards hang onto their place but the rest are around my feet and sink.  
I look at my hand. Blood drips from my knuckles and land down the drain. I brush some bloody glass pieces off but there are still some stuck. Perfect, just what I need right now. I step carefully over the glass on the floor and walk to the kitchen to address my wound.


	3. Chapter 3

John’s POV

Merton Children’s Service came to our flat to look around, I made Sherlock lock up his drugs tight and promise not to intervene. They gave me multiple tests, all of which I passed. They also gave me contracts and documents to sign promising that I basically won’t neglect my niece in any way. All in all, I got custody.  
I’m very excited but also nervous. I never met this girl, I don’t know what she’s like. Knowing my sister, I don’t expect much but I’ll give her a chance. She was adopted so she may not be like Harry, but she still raised her.  
That’s another issue. The kid will be grieving, which makes everything 10 times more difficult. I don’t know how to deal with that sort of thing, I’m not a psychologist. I have to keep an open mind though, Jayden could be a very sweet girl; I just have to meet her to find out.  
The cab pulls up to the funeral home, it’s that day. I straighten my tie and take a deep breath, this will be hard. I’ve been to a fair number of funerals including my parents, but my sister was all I had left; or so I thought. I step out of the vehicle and pay the man for his service, then walk up the steps.  
Once in the building, it’s nice and warm with beautiful construction. Everything is beautiful, but with such a dark purpose. Ironic that a nice place will be for dead people to have a ceremony, I guess that’s to lighten the situation a bit.  
I cut in front of the line to sign the book and go straight in the room where a bunch of sad and teary faces are. In the receiving line there was only one person. It wasn’t Clara so she’s probably a no show, typical.  
The girl in line is quite striking. She looks to be in her teen years but mature. Long blonde hair hangs loose around her waist and purple covers the bottom. I’m not one for dyed hair, I think it looks funny. She wears a black lace dress along with similar shoes. Her pale skin has a natural glow to it, dusted with freckles.  
Is that Jayden? She looks a lot like Harry. I thought she was adopted, unless it’s a freaky coincidence. There’s a scowl on her face which seems out of place, it doesn’t look intentional. Just natural. I walk over and join the receiving line beside the girl, she doesn’t give me a glance.   
“Jayden?” I ask curious.  
“Yes.” She says flatly still not looking at me and shakes a person’s hand that comes to her.  
I shake their hand and attempt to continue our vague conversation, “I’m John, your uncle.”  
She finally looks at me with dark blue eyes, “oh, well, hi I guess?”  
“That’s all you have to say?”  
“What would you prefer me say? Or do. Jump into your arms like a child?”  
“Jesus.” Her and Sherlock will have fun.  
“Well tell me when you come up with something,” she says blankly then goes back to staring at the wall.  
I go to open my mouth but decide to keep quiet, she’ll come around. Once an opening appears in the sea of people, I manage to get a quick look at Harry. She doesn’t look herself, more like a plastic clone. Inside the coffin, she looks too tiny, like she did in dad’s chair when we were young.   
Suddenly I remember her laughing, her face, so clear in my mind you’d swear it just happened. When her eyes weren’t half closed, skin not an ugly shade of grey and her actions not so loose; she was a beautiful woman.  
It’s beyond me why she wouldn’t just stop, it was killing her and she knew that. She had a kid, how could she not get help, get sober; I even offered to pay for her rehab even though we both knew I couldn’t afford it.  
I try to stop the tears stinging my eyes like a thousand bees. That is not my sister, that girl in the coffin is not Harry. Then a troubling thought worms its way into my head, who was Harry Watson? Did I even really know her?  
As salty rivers make they’re way down my cheeks I feel a small object wedge between my palm and thumb. I look down to see a bandaged hand connected to my so-called niece.   
“What happened?” I ask staring at her blood spots standing out against the white fabric.  
Not moving an inch as if I weren’t there, “don’t ruin the moment.” then gives my hand a tiny squeeze. Still feeling the heaviness of worry on my chest, the corners of my mouth lift softly and an urge to laugh lifts in my throat as I realize where Harry went.


End file.
